The Urge

This story features A BOY TURNING INTO A FEMALE BREEDING-CRAZY WEREWOLF THEN GETS STUCK AS LADY WHEN SHE TURNS BACK INTO HUMAN AFTER FULL MOON.

cough. Sorry. Felt like I needed to shout that.

Tags of this include monsterfucking, obviously, impregnation risk/effective confirmation, gender TF, fightfucking, domme/sub switching, and all kinds of petplay stuff.

Consent with monsterstuff can be difficult but I did take great pains to stress both creatures are intelligent entities capable of acting of their own volition. Still, heads up. There's also a fight, and while it's not described in detail, there are wounds that leak blood, so if you're not into partners hurting each other and then fucking the bajeezus out of each other then heads up also.

enjoy!

***

The tightness in Abel's chest felt like he was being crushed in a vise. He stumbled into his humble abode on the very edge of town, closing the door with his shoulder right before another pang gripped him. He screamed, the pain overwhelming him. Letting the heavy sack of herbs he'd collected fall from his grip to the floor, he pressed his back to the door and slid down until seated. A moment. Just a moment. His heart hammered, vision narrowing. The first time this happened, he thought it was a heart attack. But now, eight months later, he knew better.

"Every fucking full moon," Abel swore, the words feeling strange and unfamiliar in his mouth. He licked his gums. Teeth. Long, pointed teeth.

The Urge was upon him.

The Curse.

The Mark of the Wolf.

He needed to prepare.

A small blessing was that one of the first symptoms of the change was being infused with a wild energy; a mania that made Abel feel like he was invincible. He could get through this night. He could do anything! But he needed to move fast.

The door had to be barred. He slammed the heavy wooden slat into a niche he'd cut, keeping it sealed from the inside. His little cottage once had windows, but he'd sealed them with mortar and stones from the river. Crude, but effective. The Beast wasn't smart enough to test the walls for weaknesses. Closing off the windows made the room sweltering in the summer, as it was now, but that was better than the alternative.

The next step was a sedative, and that would be the hard part. Hard experience had told him only the most potent dose would keep the beast quelled, but it had been a terrible year for Red Root--a key component to his most effective soporific recipe. He'd scavenged enough, finally, but had only just gotten back to his stretch of the woods when the sun had dipped beneath the horizon. This would be the fastest potion he'd ever brewed... he could only hope it would be enough.

Abel gathered the ingredients for the potion, but his coordination suffered, replaced in equal measures by an impossible brute strength. He knocked a mortar and pestle to the ground, then as he lunged to catch it, he slammed into his little kitchen table. Woozy, he spent the next half a minute remembering what he was doing. Right. The potion! He crushed the first empty jar he grabbed, fragments sticking into his flesh like angry insects. He yelped, then watched with a frightened awe as his skin forced the glass shards out, knitting his flesh back whole and stronger moments later. Droplets of blood, his blood, seized his attention. The taste of metal filled his mouth, even without licking his wounds, an act he felt bizarrely compelled to do now. He slid out his tongue. It was so long, now. Long... and nimble...

He shook himself. His mind was narrowing, distracted by the potency of the enhanced senses. The sedative! It was almost too late. He looked at his hands, the digits elongating, nails turning more like little daggers with every wasted moment. He'd never brew the potion at this rate. The herbs he'd dropped to the floor might as well have been a hundred miles away. Simple formulations and calculations by weight like the highest arithmetic to his addled mind.

Damn this curse. Damn this burden! He lashed out, smashing a full row of laboriously labelled samples to the floor. The atavistic desire to break everything in sight compelling his flesh beyond what his mind could comprehend. The Beast was simpleminded, and when inconvenienced, it sought to break. To destroy. To kill, even. That wasn't him. That would never be him! And that is why he needed to bar the door. Why he needed the potion. And why he needed...

His neck snapped toward the bed. The third and final step of restraining the Beast. The manacles! Without the potion, he'd need the manacles. Two sets: one for the wrists, one for the ankles. The iron fetters were loose fitting jewelry to him, but the Beast loathed them. Iron was particularly difficult for it to stand. Silver was lethal to its kind, he knew from the long days of researching his curse. But he was not a rich man. Cold iron would have to do.

He scrambled to where they waited beneath his meagre straw bed, but on his way, a new paroxysm hit. Pain, searing pain, like white hot needles slipping into his skin. He slammed into the flimsy wooden bedframe and felt it break under his weight. He howled, low and sonorous. In pain. In anger. In... in... other, base emotions.

The first was hunger. Raw, complete, gnawing hunger. A craving to consume. To rip. To drink deep of another creature's life and swallow it whole. He looked around the room with eyes like two burning red embers. It seemed strange, now, this place of cold stone and stinging iron. Glass and dead weeds. What food he had was cold. Salted. Prepared. He needed fresh meat. He needed to taste blood. He licked his hand. The wound had already healed. Fresh blood. Meat. Fresh Kill. His stomach grumbled. What had he been looking for? Something important...

The pace of the changes quickened. A peculiar 'shifting' beneath his skin, like his bones were moving beneath the meat of his limbs. His face pushed forward and out, jaw opening and stretching to become the maw of a hunting predator. Drool fell unbidden, speckling his shifting form. Hair blossomed on his skin, covering him in a dense coat of black fur. More urges struck. The desire to run. To go from one part of the forest to another without stopping. To thrash in the roaring river and feel the cold water was over her body.

Her? The part that was still Abel recoiled at that. That was the part he hated the most, that made him feel the most self-conscious. Confused. Unsafe. For the Beast was many things. One thing it was not, however, was male. And that fact made him deeply...

Thoughts splinted like the flimsy wood of his bedframe. One moment, he lashed himself to a coherent fear. An idea. A potential disaster. The next, she knew who she was with singular clarity. She knew What she was. The same way you know the next breath will be air. She knew she was strong. The cabin around her was small. A pile of fresh cut herbs and a canvas sack crunched softly beneath her heavy, clawed hands. She knelt to sniff them. Scents a human could only dream of passed through her mind. A symphony of aromatics. The Other had thought these important for other reasons.

The Other.

She loathed him. Her body was already shedding every trace of him. The cloth that wrapped his feeble frame tore and fell in shreds to the floor. Her hair dangled like twisted vines down her face and back. Her breasts poured forth in a pleasurable flow that left her chest full to bursting. And with a satisfied shudder, she looked between her legs as his tiny cock vanished. Replaced with a hot, glistening hole.

A pussy. No.

A cunt.

Her cunt.

Yesss...

The Beast's most powerful drive made itself known. As the last of her enormous body snapped into place, the compulsion that dominated her thoughts every night she emerged took hold. Her mind would never have a concept of the number zero, but she knew emptiness. Void. A wordless understanding of a nothingness that craved. That ached to be filled.

Mate.

She needed to mate. To breed.

That compulsion rocked her, now. Moisture spilled down her legs and filled the cabin with her scent. The smell of a pack leader in heat. Her thighs clapped together as she shivered at the thought of having someone between her legs. Taking them or being taken, it didn't matter. But she had to have it. She needed to... she...

The Other thrashed in her mind. His mind was powerful. Even she understood that. But now, beneath the moonlight that called to her blood, his inner voice was quiet compared to her own. She was a roaring waterfall. He was a trickling brook. Even when it screamed, it was a whisper to her.

Can't... breed, the weak thing panted inside her brain, pleading with her. Won't... turn... back.

The Beast howled a laugh. Why would she ever want to turn back? Why ever become a morsel when she can be the predator. The feaster. And she would claim her fill.

Hunger again. The transformation had made her famished. She needed fresh meat. And the only way to get meat was to escape this box...

***

Ryder knew there were wolves out here... she just couldn't find them.

The bounty had been for wolf pelts, but she'd seen neither hide nor hair of them in days. Apparently, they'd been raiding the local paddocks. Small villages around the Stalkingwood didn't have the money to pay for a Venatrix, but their lord did. Dead sheep and frightened shepherd boys cut into the tithe after all. But she'd get paid nothing if she returned empty-handed. And it was already well past dusk, their normal hunting hour. She was beginning to lose hope of finding sign.

The full moon offered plenty of light normally, but this deep in the forest, it offered only momentary respite. But that was but one alteration that she'd made to her body. As the light faded, her eyes... changed. The pupil pulled from a pinprick to a vertical slit, and from it poured a sickly green colour that stained their irises. It spilled over into the sclera, the white part, tainting it with the selfsame hue until the eye was naught but a black cleft in an emerald sea. She'd only watched it happen once, a lover she'd taken during their Trials, and it had left her with both a respect for the gifts she'd been given... and a fear of what she'd become.

The world was bathed in that same green light now. But in doing so, she saw as clearly as one might in the day. Not the colours of the world, nor beautiful glimmer of a starlit sky. But she could see what mattered. Threats. Hazards. Exploitable terrain. The battlefield at night was hers to command.

A howl.

She halted, boots sinking into mud as she couched. She was close to a small stream that ran lazily downslope, and the flow of water hindered her normally impeccable hearing. But that howl was loud. Terrifyingly so. And when more howls came up to meet it, she knew she was close. A feral grin played at the corners of her mouth. The hunt was on.

She dashed through the woods, legs pumping, arms in sympathetic rhythm but primed to snatch the bow from its place around her shoulder. Every so often she would pause, not from fatigue, but to keep her heart rate steady. She'd need it to make the quick kill. A single arrow, a moment's pain. Wolves did not anger her, they were doing what they were put in this wood to do. As was she. Both were predators, and two predators in a single territory could only end one way.

Noise. She halted. Crunching of last autumn's leaves? A form in the distance, its body hunched over and obscured by a rocky outcropping. Its head reared up, and she saw a fleshy limb in its ferocious mouth. Its eyes glowed beneath her enhanced vision, reflecting its own superior night vision ability. In awe, Ryder watched the bone crack in its powerful jaw.

No, not leaves.

Not leaves at all.

A silent checklist filled out in her mind. Gore soaked maw, pointed ears, currently devouring what looked like a deer carcass? A wolf. And a big one at that. And where there was one, there were often more. Like cowards in the schoolyard, they hunted in packs. Of course she wouldn't kill them all; bad for business in the long term. Better to cull their numbers and leave survivors to hunt in a few years. 'I'm sorry my lord, it appears they have returned'.

But as she stalked around the rock to get a clear shot at its heart, her head kept aswivel for more of the creatures, she saw nothing. Either they were stealthier than she'd given them credit for... or this was a lone wolf. Rare to find one outside a pack bond. Freshly of breeding age and searching for a mate, perhaps?

As she got closer, the questions increased. As did her heartbeat. The rock had concealed the creature's true size, as it had pressed itself into the carcass with its rapacious hunger. As it raised onto its haunches, a cold chill ran down Ryder's spine. This was no normal wolf. Three spans long, easily enough to tower over her. Its body was queerly shaped, with enormous, muscular arms and powerful, digitigrade legs. All four limbs tipped with claws that looked like something out of a nightmare. Black, curving blades designed by a sadistic god to rip a belly open, or dig into the flesh to find purchase as the jaws clamp down on a throat.

The shape of it was wrong. It wasn't quadruped, either. The proportions were wrong. And as it raised its head up again, she saw the thing's chest. Breasts, likely female then, but not those of a wolf. Enormous things

This was more than a mere wolf. Her studies had taught her about ferocious creatures that shifted shape. Of beasts twisted into terrifying new forms to be used as battle thralls, or the ultimate test of a warriors' mettle. This was clearly not a thing of nature, she decided. And as a Venatrix, she was sworn to pursue and vanquish any abomination of magic she encountered. Just a few more seconds to line up a shot...

The beast's head shot up from its feast. After wiping its nose free of material, she sniffed the air. She sniffed again.

Before every hunt, Ryder bathed. She cleaned herself thoroughly, laundering her clothes at the same time. Then she cloaked herself in the scents of her hunt ground. Fresh sap, moss, even loamy earth. But it was hard to fool the nose of a wolf for long.

The beast's head snapped around to face Ryder, muzzle peeling back into a growl.

Shit.

Her bow came to her hands as if summoned, an arrow sprouting from its string and nocked with the casual, unthinking ease of a lifetime of drill and practice. The long pause had given her heart time enough to slow. It pounded out the moments with a steady tattoo, her enhanced vision every twitch of feral muscle. Every drip from its fanged mouth.

And then, it did something she didn't expect. Something that surprised her more than anything she'd encountered as a Venatrix.

"MEAT."

The single wet syllable from its ripping jaws was enough to freeze Ryder in place. It... talked? It COULD talk?

But she would get no answers from the creature. It was already in motion! Moving from stationary to a bounding gallop, Ryder only had seconds to unleash as many arrows as she could down range. One after the other, they impacted. Hitting her arms, her legs, her chest, even one sent skittering off her skull. Nothing seemed to stop it. Nothing even slowed it down. Either its hide was thicker than anything this side of a drake, or its internal anatomy was entirely different than that of a human's.

Even with her augmented speed and years of practice, she simply hasn't enough time to get the answer to that quandary. She tossed the bow and pulled a pair of silver blades. Hunting knives of last resort. For coup de graces and last stands.

The wolfbeast soared the last few yards like a ballista bolt. Ryder rolled out of the way, landing roughly on a protruding root. But she was alive at least. The thrill of a minor victory dissolved as she watched the arrows she'd poured into its chest fall out, one after another, pushed by a supernaturally fast healing mechanism.

"Fucking hell," she seethed. "You're not gonna make this easy, are you?"

The sneer it made almost looked like a playful grin. But in reality, she knew it was just baring its teeth. This was a monster with a parlour trick; nothing more.

Then they began.

A betting woman wouldn't take these odds. Measure for measure, the wolf-thing was the superior fighter. In strength, in speed, it had her beat. But it fought without experience, without skill. It fought like an animal. And in that space, she slipped her blades.

They exchanged wounds, they screamed in pain and rage. Neither found a killing blow. At several points, Ryder found herself in synchronicity with the beast. Like they were two dancers trying to impress the whole ballroom with their creative flourishes. Was it playing with her? She rejected that idea. This was to the death. Either her silver would sprout from its heart, or she'd be naught but another meal for its sick gratifications.

But in time, the balance between them tilted. Her limbs burned. Her strength flagged. And though the beast panted, though it bled, its reserves were seemingly endless. Ryder, on the other hand, was spent. She sucked in air, her body cut in several places by those ferocious claws. Her leather armour had been sliced in several places, and the rest of her tunic was held together in threadbare strips. One of her breasts had slipped out, not that it mattered at this point. She'd be dead soon anyway.

She tried another dramatic dodge, but this time, the creature adjusted its attack to catch where she was going to be. She was bowled over, falling like a sack of yams to the dirt.

Her life was over. One bite, one swipe of its claw, and Ryder was dead. It pressed her to the ground with a single forelimb. In a twisted way, she was grateful for the chance to catch her breath before she died. Wouldn't do to meet the Green Huntress sucking wind like an out of shape merchant on a jog.

A second passed. And then another. Each grain in the hourglass stretching to eons as she waited for the killing stroke.

What was this beast waiting for?

Just what the hell did this monster want?!

***

Perhaps she'd been wrong... perhaps there was more to this tiny thing than JUST meat.

The Beast looked at the small, helpless waif she was pinning to the ground. Before, she'd just been a morsel. A palette cleanser after the feast. But she had fought, and fought hard. Worthy prey, in other words. And certainly more sporting than any human she'd encountered. But as she sniffed it to properly savour the squirming delicacy before her, she smelled something else. Buried clumsily beneath the fragrances of the woods and the human tang of sweat was something else. And though this appeared to be a normal female of her kind, the Beast knew she smelled something more to her.

Mutation? Irregularity? A kindred spirit, perhaps. They both contained something suppressed within, waiting to be cut free.

With the creature pinned, she used her right claw to start peeling at the creature's clothes. They were already weakened by her attacks, parting with a few surgical, swift enough tugs. Her breasts were pitiful, of course. Pale human handfuls. But as her waist was exposed, the Beast finally found something worth consuming.

Her cock was impressive. Slid free of its bonds, it dangled limp and vulnerable, yet dwarfed the puny thing that the Other had treasured so. Far from the true size she knew it could rise to. This human had more to offer than just a meal, she could be bred.

The Beast yowled at the thought. That deeply buried compulsion to reproduce resurfacing more powerful than ever. She panted, and a terrible, incomprehensible heat filled her enormous body. It radiated from her bare cunt, which started leaking its excitement into the fur around her thighs.

But first... she need to prove she'd be a good mate. She'd hurt the creature, leaving red slashes that were, for the most part, just superficial. But there were a few that even a creature of her limited intellect knew would be life threatening if not addressed. So she did what any wolf would do: she began to lick...

***

The first long drag of the tongue along her body made her squirm. Not just in pain, the sting of saliva on her open wounds.. but the strange, lurid sensation of having a wet tongue the size of her forearm dragged along her body by a beast. But the creature had her pinned to the ground. She could not escape. She was forced to endure this degrading treatment.

"What are you doing you... dreadful thing," she asked, still utterly baffled by this turn of events. The worst part though was that it was alleviating the pain somewhat. The first cut it had licked had stopped bleeding as well. It didn't make any sense given how fetid its mouth must have been. Her own healing factor was better than an unenhanced human, but nowhere near sufficient to clot an open cut. It moved to begin to lick the rest of her body's wounds, but stopped. It brought her mouth up to her face and waited.

Ryder looked into the creature's eyes for the first time. Beyond the eerie glow of the thing's eyes, there was something else. A spark, perhaps. A glimmer of some kind of greater intelligence than a simple basilisk or crocadon. The places it had cut her were still bleeding. If she didn't bandage them now, she might be in danger. The beast waited, and in time, the Venatrix realized it was waiting for permission.

She nodded.

The wolf-thing got to work, licking her wounds in earnest. She got used to the pain and strange sensation of a wet tongue bathing her, though as its attentions drifted southward, her squirming began again in earnest. The oral attentions it was lavishing on her were unfortunately too close to that of an intimate partner. She did her best to think chaste thoughts, but her biology didn't comply.

Part of the reason she became a Venatrix was their access to powerful genetwisting potions and procedures. The ability to reform one's body on demand had been, for myriad reasons, an attractive prospect. But despite her many changes, she'd left her genitals relatively untouched. And they functioned perfectly well as any other part of her, especially when getting licked.

As her cock stiffened, she suppressed an urge to make excuses. What the hells would be the point of apologizing to a monster for getting hard? It was just simple stimulation she told herself, she wasn't attracted to this beast!

To demonstrate to herself that she wasn't, her eyes roamed its enormous body to point out all the things that disgusting her. The huge, feral creature was covered in matted, black hair, for starters. Its powerful upper body and legs were concealed behind the fur, though it thinned around its inner thigh and around its chest. There she could see the largest pair of breasts she'd ever seen standing prominently out as it loomed over her, occasionally brushing against her skin as the thing changed positions. If that wasn't evidence enough of its sex, the swollen and evidently aroused slit between its legs made it blatant. This was OBVIOUSLY a woman-wolf-thing in some kind of heat.

As its tongue drifted away from her wounds and towards her stiffening cock, Ryder's eyes widened. If the tongue was transferring some kind of quick clotting factor to her body through its wounds, could the beast also be putting some kind of pherochemical into her skin to make it respond this way? THAT must be why she was getting aroused! It wasn't the powerful woman pinning her to the ground, it was some kind of... beast magic ensorcelling her! She had to break free!

She looked around for her weapons, but they'd been tossed outside of what her peripheral vision could detect. What's more, the creature's muzzle was back up and facing her, only this time not to ask permission. This time, its tongue went for her own mouth...

Ryder opened her mouth to shout "UNHAND ME, VILE THING", but the wolf didn't hear more than a gurgling. Its tongue slithered its way past her jaw. It tasted foul, bitter, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. She thought about biting down, but she was still held and pinned down. A direct attack would not permanently injure the creature, but it would mean her likely death. The (surely) tainted drool poured into her mouth. She tried to force it out with her own tongue, but that seemed to inspire a playfulness in its antics that led to more tongue being forced inside her mouth. She only got harder. Her eyes half lidded. The disgrace of being used like this was profound. It would be a miracle if she didn't have dreams, nightmares rather, about this for the rest of her life.

When its tongue withdrew, her mouth hung agape, leaking a mix of their spit down the corners of her mouth. Its muzzle moved to form another word in the common tongue. Carefully its lips pursed, and she braced herself for a new word. A new hint at its new, perverse goal.

***

"BREED," the Beast snarled, its own thoughts struggling and fighting to be compressed down into the chopped, inarticulate language that the Other spoke. Of course it was but a fraction of what she felt. The compulsion, the need, could scarcely be rendered into such shabby syllables. What dripped and yearned between her legs, what compelled her with more fervency than any spear or torch could muster, could only be shared through experience. Through actions. And she intended to act upon her instincts immediately.

Adjusting herself without allowing the morsel to escape was difficult, but she managed. As was fucking a partner significantly smaller than you. But the erect shaft between its legs gave her a target. After that it was instinct.

She slammed herself down with force, causing the human's halves to fold upward. Her little glowing eyes bugged as she took a significant portion of the Beast's weight all at once. When she lifted herself up, she adjusted again to put more of her weight on the arms pushing into the dirt on either side of the human's body. It would not do to break bone with the sheer force of her desires... though it felt good to show her she could.

But for the Beast, the thrust of a cock inside her was a satiating one. Her body had screamed for such an act and all she could offer it before were her own clumsy fingers. Now she had a real cock. A real mate. She howled with delight. She brought itself down again and again and again, dragging out that pleasure and amplifying it, like waves building off one another until they reached dangerous heights.

Orgasm approached, and she pursued it with frantic abandon. She wanted to get bred. She NEEDED to get bred. The little voice of the Other whimpered and whined like a pup in the back of her mind, and she fought to quiet it. Pathetic little thing. So meek. So submissive. Not like her. Not like the Beast!

The Beast took what it wanted.

And the Beast wanted a full belly.

The Huntress's breath quickened. She could feel the human tense beneath her, the little limbs sprawling out in ecstasy. That's it, little creature. Spurt your seed. Pump me full. Fill me to bursting with pups~

***

But Ryder's arms were not reaching out in rapture. No, they were reaching for something that the moonlight's glint had caught. Straight silver, leaning against the root of a tree. Her finger tips danced along the pommel, the only part barely in reach. A little more, a little more...

The wolf pounded her further, and despite the disgusting, perverse nature of this intercourse, she was about to lose control. She told herself it was the wolf's tainted tongue that was making her woozy with delight, but truth be told she knew that it was more than physical stimulation and chemical confusion that was making her want to cum. She'd never had such an enthusiastic lover before. Every other woman she'd ever fucked had either been a wilting violet waiting to be plucked, or a boor looking to sheath her blade. The beast might have had but a hole, but she was using it for all it was worth to milk Ryder to completion.

The worst part was that, in some sick fashion, the fight beforehand had only made the sex feel better. It was as if the monster had beaten her, and to the victor went the spoils. With heat on her cheeks, she noted that she'd have to propose the same thing to one of her favourite lovers/sparring partners when she made it back to the big city. If the creature didn't kill her after this, of course.

But... this had to stop. She was a Venatrix. A Hunter of Hunters. And she would not be used in this way.

She couldn't.

Her fingertips pulled the dagger enough to get her hand around it, and she brought it with the speed of a lightning strike to the throat of the creature.

"Get... off... me," she said in slow, deliberate syllables. Though her body cried out for just a few more moments of stimulation, she denied herself. The wolf-woman shuddered, and whimpered, and looked down at her with pleading eyes. But it did not snarl. It did not try to bite her. Perhaps it saw her as the dominant in their relationship, or perhaps it knew when it had been beat.

It obliged her growled demand, clambering off her despite an obvious, palpable reluctance in its movements. Its pussy was practically gushing down its legs, dripping its need all over the forest floor.

"Now get!" Ryder screamed, as if at a coyote looking longingly at a chicken coup. Again, the beast obliged. It looked back once and, with a pathetic, plaintive whimper, shuffled off into the forest. Ryder stood there, naked save for her boots, holding one of her twin silver daggers like it was Fatecleaver itself. But while the King's magical blade might have made quick work of the wolf woman, her little blade had only served to entice its attention.

Why had it fled?

Deep down, she knew she should just leave. She was naked, tired beyond words, and had just survived a narrow brush with death. It was a mere few hours from dawn, the wolves that she was REALLY hunting would be back to their dens while the sun was up. If anything, loping after a monster of that size in the dead of night with shredded armour was little more than a death wish masquerading as inquiry.

But.

Her curiosity was piqued. Was this beast going to hide? Was it fleeing to safer hunting grounds? What if it fled and attacked someone, someone it didn't take a perverse sexual interest in. They could be hurt! Killed, even. Yes, she resolved. She needed more information. She gathered up what was left of her belongings, loading the ruins of her clothes into a bindle made of her cloak and a stick, and found both her bow and her second dagger. Yes. The hunt was back on.

The one thing that had nothing to do with her decision to pursue the wolf-thing was Ryder's arousal. She was certain of that. One hundred percent. Her cock wasn't so easily convinced, however. It had wilted to a half-hard state but remained an annoyance. She tried masturbating to get rid of her base urge, but she couldn't reach anything close to a climax in the time she allotted herself. So she gave up and tired, tried, to put the incident out of her mind...

... but it was a challenge to think of anything but hot, wet pussy. Disgusting! Surely the work of its tainted saliva, addling her mind further. Making her recall in vivid detail how the monster's hole felt as it squeezed down around her shaft. Pounding her into the ground. Milking her. Using her for her seed like she was a fertile breeding stud...

The cool air of the night would help, she decided, as would some exercise. After enough time had passed, she jogged into pursuit. The trail was not hard to follow. Her enhanced vision and the sheer size of the thing meant she rarely had to look for tracks to follow. Half the time she just looked for what path would allow such an enormous creature through and low and behold: a clawed patch of bark or a heavy footfall in the mud would confirm she was on the right path.

This tracking led to a simple cottage. On the outskirts of the local village, by the state of the road connecting it. Her heart pounded as her worst fears came true. It was going to eat the inhabitants of that small house! She had to intervene!

Stalking toward the cabin's walls, there were no visible windows or means of ingress save for a door that had been smashed off its hinges. Carefully, ever so carefully, she crept towards it to peek in.

There was no dead villager being feasted upon. Of that she was grateful. Instead, the wolf-thing was working its clawed fingers inside itself with a manic frustration. To bring such blades close to its genitals seemed terrifying to Ryder, but she supposed there were no real options for a monster of her kind. All the sexual frustration of a wolf in heat but none of the ability to slake its needs.

And then she saw other things in the room. The unlocked manacles. The smashed bottles and jars. The ruined furniture. The pieces began to click together in her mind. This was not a wild animal at all. This was a curse. Some magical spell had befallen some poor woman, trapping her in this form!

Another emotion welled up in Ryder, one she was not used to experiencing with her quarries: pity. She would not be hunting tonight. Perhaps, she reasoned, she could find a way to help her.

***

"Hello?"

The Beast's head snapped up. Fear pumped through her as she saw the Huntress at the door to the cabin, the deadly silver dagger in her hand, blade pointed back along the length of her arm. The other hand was open, held palm outward.

She did not stop masturbating, she wasn't ashamed of who she was or what she needed after all, but she did slow it. And the Need had only grown in ferocity since she'd been scared away. It dragged at her every moment, making a titanic creature of violence and destruction into a helpless pup before its power.

"KILL?" she asked the human. If she was going to do it, she might as well get it over with.

"No," the Huntress replied, and set the knife down on the ground. Down went the second knife, and the bow too. Then, she entered the cabin. Careful steps, one after the other. Both of them looked for a furtive movement, a single twitch to prelude a violent attack. Neither offered one. "I know you're not... you. That a creature has taken you over."

The Other cried out within the Beast's mind. She howled internally for him to be silent, but he refused. Finally, someone who understood his plight! The little human tried to wrest control away, using reserves she hadn't known he possessed. But she refused to yield. This was HER body. This was HER mind. He was but a passenger. Then... the Beast got an idea.

"HELP," she said, her voice as pathetic as an enormous monster could possibly growl. "HELP... ME."

"What? How can I help?" the woman asked, inching closer with her hands held out.

"BREED... ME. END... CURSE."

The Other screamed in outrage. His mind was difficult to understand, but his belief of the dangers of being fertilized while in her true form were clear. The little man was sure it would mean that he'd be like her forever. And she thought that was a wonderful idea. She thanked him, all while looking sad and dejected for the benefit of the Huntress.

Instinct took over from here. With slow, unthreatening movements, the Beast spun around and presented its hindquarters for inspection. Its cunt was still sopping wet and radiating heat. Her fingers had only driven her into greater frustration, and she looked behind to see if the human would understand the not-too-subtle hinting.

After what felt like a decade, but was likely only a few seconds, she felt sensation on her body. The Huntress' hands! The Beast trembled, trying her best to ignore the pathetic complaints inside her own mind. Focus on the pleasure. The slow trace of fingers along her rear as they worked closer to her slit. To her needy fuckhole. Her drooling cunt.

"Are you sure you want this?" the human asked. Frustration threatened to unleash another violent spree. How was this not clear?! But the Beast reminded herself, with whatever fraction of patience she could muster, that humans were very dumb, and very blind, and had maybe one and a half senses working at any one time. The fact that the whole room smelled like Heat was lost, apparently.

Then, she felt it. Pressure against her sodden hole. She looked back and saw only the naked, muscular torso of her quarry, still showing the wounds from their initial battle. Her patience was finally rewarded when the heavenly shaft slipped inside once more! A howl of bliss shook the walls of the cabin. Finally, FINALLY, relief!

"BREED," she said, this time in a throaty growl that not even a human could misunderstand. Encouraged, seemingly, the Huntress began to fuck in earnest. Slow, ever so slow for the Beast. But it was at least back on. She was finally going to get her seed.

The Other, of course, was trying to spoil things. She worked to shut him out, to quiet him, to put mental barriers between him and her. His fear had been the thing to propel her away from her prize. That weakness could not be allowed again. She would finish what she started.

But as the mental image of the sad male in her mind despaired, she felt her own sense of pity. Why was he fighting so hard against this? He lived a life of solitude. He had no mate. No community save the one he held at arm's length. His mind was strong, sure, but imagine how strong they could be... together.

That thought caused a twitch in both of them. They'd been enemies for as long as he'd had this curse. They'd fought each other at every turn. But now, here was a chance to be more than just one or the other. They could be their own pack-pair. Her strength, her passion, his knowledge, his cleverness.

This mental discord was all happening amidst the best fuck she'd ever had in her life. Also his life, but that wasn't saying much. A fumbling lover if there ever was one, he'd always taken the role of the 'giver' as a necessity for sexual contact as a male. But she knew that was limiting. Especially considering how much joy one could find when with an eager partner. The cabin was awash in their noises, in their joy. The Huntress had her around the hips, pulling her in to make her thrusts more effective. To push every last inch of her cock inside her.

While the Other fought a losing battle, she could feel his mindshape quiver. He was enjoying this. Despite his protests. Despite his denials. This was his body too; all the sensations she experienced, he felt. That meant he knew that hunger to be filled. That yearning. And how good it felt now that she was getting fucked. Getting pounded by a dominant. Preparing to get bred by her packmate.

Instead of shutting him out, as she tried to do all night, she opened herself to him. The Other was shocked at first, trying to scramble for the controls to her limbs, but the sensations overwhelmed him. The sheer magnitude of satiation she was experiencing was too much for his little mind to handle.

It can be like this all the time, she tried to tell him in his own language. You can feel this good. You can be this powerful. This honest with yourself and the world. No shame. No fear. Just life, raw and unadulterated. Join with me. Become one.

He denied her. But she could feel his resistance ebb. Her emotions were like a magnificent symphony, and his complaints and worries were but single instruments. Sad. Alone. She beckoned him past them, the pleasures of being mated pouring into them both. Every little complaint was met with another surge of pleasure, every nagging worry a buffet of cravings the Beast had to share.

Stop fighting.

Forget your old body.

Trample your fear beneath your claws.

Become more.

Become one.

Become US.

Inside, she could feel him yield. The Other moaned, dropping to his knees. Then all fours. Present himself for mounting. Yielding in unison with her own body. And at that moment, the Huntress sped up her thrusts, rewarding all three entities with more pleasure than they could ever know what to do with. The Beast shared it with the Other, and they both yowled and moaned until they were in sync. Their voices singing in the Beast's own language of sensation. Until they'd merged into one beautiful chorus.

BREED ME.

BREED ME.

BREED ME.

The Huntress seized, crying out. Her hips thrust forward and she speared the Beast's cunt with the last of her reserves. Hot seed sprayed with force inside her to a howl of approval, pleasures unknown to either being launching them through waves of rapture dancing them perilously close to unconsciousness. When it was over, a deep part of the Beast knew it had worked. That she'd been bred, as she deserved to be. And more importantly... she had a new mate. To safeguard. To lead together. And to raise a new pack.

***

Abel awoke groggily, as she always did afterward. The transformation was disorientating, draining, but at least she made it to...

... bed...

The night's events came back in flashes. Fragments of imagery mixed with much stronger emotional impressions and bursts of remembered scents. The fresh kill. The thrill of victory. The taking... and of being taken as a bitch in heat.

She moved to leave her smashed bed, but an arm had been crooked around her waist, keeping her locked into the little spoon position. The Huntress. Their encounter came in clearer detail now. Oh my god... what have I done?!

She reached down to feel between her legs, and gasped. Not only was her cock no longer there, but the woman who had her wrapped in her arms had her own prick pressed weakly between her lower lips. As if she'd kept her plugged through the night.

Abel had been impregnated during a transformation. She knew that intuitively, instinctually. That was the only way to explain why the change in gender had been permanent this time. What's more, there were other changes too. Parts of the Beast had... bled over into her body. Her fingers came to pointed claws, not weak little nails as they had been before. Her hair was now wild, dark, the same colour as the wolf's fur. As she adjusted her head, she felt something squish on the top of her head. She reached up to feel the first of a pair of pointed, wolfen ears on her head. Not just a woman... she'd become some kind of-

"Hello dear," a husky voice said, making her shiver. "Did you rest well?"

Abel tried to stammer the start of a dozen sentences, absently noting her voice had raised in pitch.

"I... well... it's... there's a lot we should probably talk abo-" was as far as she got before a finger pressed to her lips. Those were sensitive too now, and Abel's eyes half lidded at the touch against her mouth. Fulfilling a silent desire, one finger slid inside, and she latched onto it. A strange taste filled her tastebuds, and it took a moment to place it. Her own juices. She sucked the digit greedily.

"Let's not spoil things with too many words. It's the morning after a very... eventful night. Both of us are alive and healthy, and that's as much as I desire to know. Well, there is one question."

She pushed her hips back, letting her cock leave Abel, only to slide it between her thighs. The newly minted girl responded by opening them just enough to let her do that, and the pair engaged in a little drowsy intercurial play while they spoke.

"What do I call you?" the Huntress asked, her thrusts slow but steady. The shaft rubbing up against Abel's slit and quickly making her wet.

Abel thought about using her old name, but that was commonly for males. Besides, she was more than just that sad, lonely apothecary now. She was more.

"Call me... call me Bee," she said after a moment's thought. It was as good as anything, and could stand for a diminutive for the Beast that she'd brought into her life. Time would tell if that part of herself would reemerge in the next full moon, or if this state of blending was her new permanent form. But she had more pressing matters to attend to. In particular, the woman in her bed who had her trapped in a muscular grasp.

"Pleased to meet this version of you, Bee. The other one was quite friendly, after a fashion. Hope you are too."

"I-I'm sorry about attacking you," Bee replied in a rush of words. "I don't have any control when I change. It's-" Her stammered apology received a muting finger and a 'shh' to her ear that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

"It's alright. She was a hungry creature, and took what she wanted. I'm a Venatrix, a type of hunter. I understand primal nature, and share it in part. When I am hungry, I go on the hunt. And now that I see that the sun in rising, I could go for some breakfast. Tell me, Bee, are you hungry?"

The moan that escaped her lips could only be described as bestial. She bent slightly, allowing better access to her already sodden cunt. The Huntress took this as an answer to her question, readjusted, and slid herself inside once more.

"There's a good girl," the Huntress praised. "I could use a hound, you know. Loyal. Obedient... but we'll see how you feel after our meal, hmm? We'll see if we can't slip a collar around that pretty neck of yours."

Bee quivered. She hadn't known anything she wanted to feel more than the tight leather of a collar wrapped around her neck. A promise of ownership. Of being someone's creature. A lurid shudder filled her as she realized that while B could stand for Beast, it could stand for something else too.

Bitch.